


an ode to disillusion

by twatsworthy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, is there anyone on this earth more pretentious than me, we just don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twatsworthy/pseuds/twatsworthy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>only the sunrise would ever know the songs of the blood spilled on that day</p>
            </blockquote>





	an ode to disillusion

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know i think this was supposed to be a poem until the point where it wasn't  
> i wrote it in under thirty minutes whilst waiting for a reply to a Scary Text so don't expect to be impressed

Let toiling passions toil, and ecstasies excite; for he is rapturous to the incomprehensible visage of a dulcified painter, a resplendent sunset piece (he loves him so) bathed in fluorescent light illuminating the cracks, the peeling, the stubborn masochistic echoes crying out from between the fingernail scrapings on the four walls of his solitude, whilst their collaborating cohorts Pain and Panic shriek and mock and scream and writhe and whimper as the motionless incendiary seraphim impales them with its cherubic sword of oration.  
(O God he loves him so let the deities crumble for they could not compare)  
Let Romantics weave them from their rosemary smoke trails, let citizens basking in the throes of love and sodomy and visceral copulate sex sing their names from their impartial humdrum lips, let them whisper them as the holy lovers of the sky and sun and sea, the greatest infatuates of our mindless, corporeal generation; let their names be strung in lights to be sold as a generic product; let it be known that such adorations as these bear a heavy weighted price and that –  
that –  
(he loves him so – the cruelty of an indifferent cavalier of capitalism might falter at such adoration)  
Let hands meet hands in fated darkness, blind to the indifferent voices of those who wield the bullets; let all the heavens open for the sensual sepulchre soon to be laid at their martyred feet; let them lay not drenched in modesty nor naked of their dignity – yet simply let them be, let skeleton become bereft and floral, and let their bodies entwine in the infinity of what lies beneath hand on hand and finger on finger and let the light they seek together be a light not dangling them apart –  
(he loved him as does the martyr love the cross –)  
Let ethereal lips drip blood and words of sorrow, let the libertine saint of all things look to the sedulous dictator of tenacity besides him – let his mouth obey his soul and let his words breathe life; “Grantaire,” and let the visceral bloodied deaths become instead the beginnings of replenished life of lovers dignified;  
Let the bitter mouth of one so furiously tamed gaze upon the wielder and the yielder, and let sonorous sonnets race down the tongue of one so sardonic in his chastity; let knives and shields form, “Enjolras,” and let it taste of blood as in the next life it will taste of honey.  
(he loved him so, let the holy chorals know it –)


End file.
